Rising Darkness
by Shroudedpanther
Summary: After years of chaos, Skyrim has finally found some peace. It will not last, as the forces of evil are already in motion. But there always some who resist. A last alliance of heroes will stand to combat the rising darkness, led by five individuals wielding enormous power: the Dragonborn.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Skyrim belongs to Bethesda, and they did a damn good job with it. However, Kaius, Stenar, Jag, Virali, and more are my OCs. You shall not have them! Don't worry, the next chapter's won't have much to do with questlines except for flashbacks. Enjoy, and remember to write a review to either bash it or encourage me!

P.s.- There will be a number of easter eggs in this series, such as character's actions or various quotes from Halo, etc. In the reviews, tell me which ones you recognize and I will give you a shoutout and a really big smiley :D

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**1**

How It Began

Kaius' vision was hazy. Dimly, he wondered where he was. He was aware of movement. A carriage. He was sitting along a bench in a carriage, bumping along a broken cobblestone road. Then his memory returned. He had been traveling into the Skyrim Province, to seek an apprenticeship from Beirand, an old friend of his father's, in the city of Solitude.

Then came the ambush; Imperial warriors with flashing blades, and the insurgent Stormcloaks trying in vain to protect a man in fine dark clothes. Kaius just deflected blows with his smithing hammer and tried to stay in one piece. Despite he himself being an Imperial, a soldier had contemptuously disarmed him, delivered a sharp blow to his head, and there was darkness…

Now he was awake in this wagon, his hands bound and all of his equipment gone. He was wearing clothes made of some rough spun material. Prison garb. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. Sitting to his right was the man in the expensive-looking furs. He looked miserable, but there was still nobility to him. Strangely, he was gagged. Kaius frowned at this and figured that there must be more to this man than met the eye. To his left was a blonde Nord, a large muscular man who was talking quietly to the Stormcloak across from him. They looked alike, but the man on Kaius' left was larger, and not dressed in the blue-gray light armor that Kaius had come to associate with the Stormcloaks.

He craned his neck at other wagons in the procession. He could see a High Elf with a trickle of blood running down her forehead, an onyx-colored Khajiit with claw scars on his face who returned Kaius' gaze with hostility, another burly Nord with stringy brown hair, an unconscious Dunmer, and more Stormcloak troopers.

The Stormcloak soldier saw Kaius was awake and engaged him in conversation. Kaius learned that the regal man sitting next to him was Ulfric Stormcloak, the "High King" of Skyrim, and that they had all been captured in the same Imperial ambush. As they talked, the convoy arrived in a small town called Helgen. The prisoners piled out of the wagons and waited as Imperial soldiers read names from a list.

A few people turned out to not be on the list, including himself. They were asked their names. The Altmer said, "Virali", in an even tone. The ebony Khajiit replied in a hiss, "Jag." The brown- haired Nord replied that he couldn't remember. A reasonable legionnaire named Hadvar asked the officer in charge what to do with the misfits. The woman thought for a moment, then shrugged and decided to go with the simpler yet crueler option. "Forget the list. They all go to the block!"

"By your orders, Captain." Was Hadvar's reluctant reply. Kaius watched grimly as the first defiant Stormcloak was beheaded by an impassive executioner, prompting screams and cheers and verbal abuse from the gathered crowd of townsfolk. His neck shivered in anticipation, as if it couldn't wait for the axe to come neatly down.

"Next: The Nord in the rags!" The Imperial captain's voice snapped like a whip.

The large brown-haired Nord walked up to the chopping block, his back straight and his gait even. His bravery made Kaius smile grimly. Then he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tight as the man was forced on his knees in front of the block.

But then there came a roar of some huge beast from above. Imperial, Stormcloak, and townsfolk alike froze and shrunk down, a primal sense of fear making them feel like a mouse under a hawk's eye.

"What in _Oblivion _is that?!" Yelled an Imperial clad in the shiny armor of a general. From behind a mountain, winging its way towards Helgen, came a dragon as black as night. At least, that's what Kaius thought it was, as it matched most of the descriptions found in old legends of dragons. It was covered in spikes and its eyes glowed a demonic red-orange. The beast landed on a stone tower and perched there, glaring down upon its prey. It roared in some strange tongue, and a maelstrom formed above it. Chaotic clouds swirled and fireballs rained onto cobblestone, forming craters and blackening corpses of people too slow to get out of the way. Everything was a confusing muddle of sound and movement with the citizens of Helgen screaming and running every which way, the Imperial soldiers shouting orders, and the prisoners seeking cover.

Kaius just had time to slit his bindings off using the executioner's dropped axe, still stained red, before he was running toward another stone tower with the blonde Nord prisoner. As he ran, he glanced around for the other prisoners he had noticed from the wagon. He caught a glimpse of the Altmer burning her own shackles off with bursts of mage fire, the noble Nord grabbing an abandoned war axe from the street and running after the dragon—the fool, what was he thinking?—and the dark elf making a beeline for the far side of town. Something nagged at him. The Khajiit! Where was Jag? Kaius didn't have time to search, though, before the now-liberated Stormcloaks slammed the door closed.

Wounded rebels lay on the floor, moaning, and outside there was the terrible sounds of fire and screams of dying men and above it all, the bellowing of the gigantic dragon. Kaius and the Nord prisoner, who hastily introduced himself as Stenar, decided to climb the tower to get a vantage point. They were halfway up the stone steps when they came upon a Stormcloak digging in some wreckage that blocked the stairs. She saw them and motioned for them to help her.

"If we can just get this cleared awa-," She was cut off by the dragon landing on the outside of the tower. They all staggered as the tower rocked. The dragon snarled something like_ "Us Ro Ah_," and the wall exploded inward in great chunks and small shards of rock. The Stormcloak was crushed under the rubble so fast she didn't even have time to scream. Kaius and Stenar lurched back; Stenar lost his footing on the stairs, but the Imperial caught him before he could tumble any further.

They both retreated down the steps as the dragon drew back and painted a stream of fire onto the wreckage, scarring the stones black. Smoke gusted as the dragon let go of the tower and soared away.

"By the gods…" Stenar turned to see Ralof, the Stormcloak from their wagon, staring at the debris with grief written on his face. Nothing was visible of the female rebel except a blackened arm sticking up out of the rock and a few scraps of charred blue uniform. Ralof shook his head dazedly and ordered, "See that inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going! We'll follow when we can."

Kaius turned to Stenar and rasped, "Let's go." He ran to the pile of boulders; he could feel the heat radiating from it. Stenar joined him and asked, "What if we don't make it?"

"We'll make it." Kaius took a running jump out of the hole in the wall and plummeted through the smoke.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Skyrim and its characters are Bethesda's. But my OCs are mine, and you shall not have them! I promise that things will heat up in subsequent chapters. Enjoy, and don't forget to post a review!

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**2**

Kaius

Three Years Later

Kaius loosened his tight hold on the overlook above what used to be Deepwood Vale, an ancient Nordic city to the southwest of the city of Solitude. Now it was known as The Ark. The Ark was nestled in steep, impassable mountains that closed it off from the rest of Skyrim.

The volatile Forsworn used to occupy it, defiling the tombs and preying upon citizens from the outside world. They had been driven out multiple times, until they and their allies, the Hagravens, were loathe to come there.

Recently the blood and dust had been cleaned away by a noble guild of warriors called the Vanguard. Kaius himself had formed the warrior's clan after his part with various factions in restoring relative calm to Skyrim. Technically, the Vanguard reported to General Tullius, who was in command of the Imperial Legion's forces in Skyrim.

But after quelling the uprisings and stopping the vampire threat in Skyrim, Kaius had, with Tullius' permission, formed the elite branch of the Imperial Legion, located only in Skyrim. The Ark was the Vanguard's primary base and largest garrison. Other forts had been also cleansed of bandits and filth, providing formidable strongholds.

The Vanguard's purpose was to keep the peace and establish good relations with the citizens of Skyrim after the Stormcloak Rebellion. They were hired for things such as wiping out bandits, destroying frostbite spider infestations, slaying trolls, and even tracking down runaways. They were already legendary for their honor, discipline, chivalry, and loyalty. Once one was part of their brotherhood, it was an accomplishment to be proud of. Despite the Vanguard's similarities to the Companions of Whiterun, the two groups were rivals.

Kaius again shook his head to clear it of memories. He was still gazing out over The Ark, over his troops, from his raised edge on the balcony. The air was chilly like always, but Kaius felt comfortable in his custom ebony armor. He had stumbled on the design plans for this magnificent equipment inside a dwarven ruin. With a few enhancements and modifications, he used ebony ingots to forge a masterpiece of modern armor technology.

The warrior glanced down at the town again. He could see cookfires being lit, tents being erected or taken down, soldiers drilling with a variety of weapons and magic, and the twin towers standing sentinel on either side of the valley, with ballista ready and loosely aimed in the direction of the end of The Ark, where a small door stood between the valley and the adjoining caves. The tunnels led under the mountains to the rest of Skyrim. Kaius turned and walked back toward the door that led to The Ark's command center. When the Forsworn occupied the valley, they had called it Hag's End on account of the residence of hags and Hagravens that dwelt there.

As he walked, Kaius put on his inky helm. He felt his mace, Fist of Rukt, gently bump against his thigh as he walked. Subconsciously, he reached over his shoulder to make sure that his ebony crossbow, Abyssal Shard, was still there. It was, fastened to his armor's clips, but secured so he could pull it out and reattach it quickly and comfortably. Kaius entered the command center. After several rooms filled with equipment and essential tools, he went into the officer's dining hall. The half dozen officers rose when he came in.

"Atten-shun!" barked a grim Orc with a steel battleaxe strapped to his armor.

"At ease, Largas. Sit down, everyone. We have much to discuss." Kaius quickly surveyed the officers. _His_ officers. He had handpicked them for their abilities in the past, and some had even been his companions before the Vanguard was formed. "Good. We're all here."

"Sir, did you read my report on Bleak Falls Barrow?" inquired one of them.

"Yes, Minia," he replied to the Redguard Captain. "You have permission to obliterate the bandits that have taken up refuge there. We can't have Riverwood in danger. It shouldn't be too much trouble, though, so you may plan your attack independently. I suggest deploying Sergeant Ri'daat. His squad's stealth specialty coupled with the inclement weather that often covers Bleak Falls Barrow should make for an easy contract."

The woman blinked at this sudden outburst, but all she said was, "Yes, sir!" and sat down.

_Minia's surprise was warranted, _Kaius thought to himself. He wasn't known for chattering. He felt that his duty, coupled with his leadership position, left little room for wasted words. The Imperial felt a small twinge of pride, and a smile curved on his scarred lips. A smile no one could see through his helmet.

"Chief. What about the rumors of Snapleg Cave?" asked a disgruntled Imperial by the name of Astius. Kaius didn't acknowledge the nickname, "Chief", that he had earned during his service in the Stormcloak Rebellion.

"That's a negative for now, Captain. You and most of your company are needed for a mission I have planned." The Chief gestured towards the map spread in the center of the table. Many markers were pinned in it, each representing a different job, contract, or favor that the Vanguard was planning or had already completed. He pointed to one in particular that stuck out of territory in Skyrim known as The Reach.

"Reachcliff Cave," Kaius said. "Our scouts confirm that there are disturbing signs around it, such as human bones and fresh innards. I recently received word from an informant that some of Namira's cult has set up shop there. We will fulfill the kill/ capture order that's been placed on them. Any questions?"

"Chief… what is Namira's cult again? I know I've heard of them, but it must have slipped my mind," Astius trailed off. Kaius nodded his inscrutable black helm toward Commander Cirali, who was leaning up against the wall near the command table. The tall, fierce High Elf stepped forward and cleared her throat.

"Namira's Coven is a group of cannibals devoted to worshipping Namira, the Daedric prince of decay and other loathsome things. Most of the group is comprised of citizens from the nearby capital of The Reach, which, of course, is Markarth."

Kaius stood up, grateful that a modification in his armor- and years of exhausting training- made the heavy metal nearly weightless. "Is everything clear?" he rumbled. When there was no answer from the officers, he called them to attention. "You all know what to do. Captain Minia, you assignment lies within Bleak Falls Barrow. Astius, assemble your men and secure the outside of the cave. I'll rendezvous with you there. Dismissed!"

The gathered officers saluted sharply, which Kaius proudly returned. He turned for the door and walked outside, where a blast of cold air met him. Kaius suddenly grinned, his scars stretching tight inside his helmet. Everything finally seemed to be calming down. With a contented sigh, he thought, _these are my brothers and sisters. We are the best there is. We will not fall._


	3. Chapter 3

Skyrim is Bethesda' you read it, review it please. It helps so much with my moral and will get new chapters up there even faster! Enjoy.

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3

Jag

Shadows moved upon shadows inside Stony Creek Cave. A Breton mercenary sitting on a rock gazed down at the pool of water below him. He was just thinking he should abandon this paranoid thane and go find the nearest inn for some mead when he thought he saw a flicker of movement. The Breton raised his mournful eyes sharply.

His hands went instinctively to the axe belted to his side. The man squinted at the far side of the pool, but couldn't see through the murkiness of the night. He didn't bother trying to listen, as the blizzard outside muffled everything with its shrieking wind. He was about to relax when there was a flash of silver and an ornate dagger buried itself in his throat.

The Breton gave a small gurgle and toppled off his perch into the water. The shallow water was just deep enough to close over his nose and he fuzzily wondered what would kill him first: the dagger or drowning? Darkness began to creep in around the edges of his vision, but then he saw something looming over him. The dying man focused on the figure, and there appeared something out of a nightmare.

It was a man dressed in some kind of armor that looked like it was made of shadow. It was a combination of leather and metal, with a hood and a cape, as far as he could tell. Wait. He saw a tail! A Khajiit! The thin tendrils floating across the water were truly mesmerizing... The man just had time to realize it was his own blood before he blacked out.

Jag tugged the dagger free of the dead man's throat and impassively watched the spray of blood that followed. The Khajiit glanced at his blade, Mehrunes Razor, which he had acquired from the daedric lord Mehrunes Dagon. Its silver and black triangular shaped blade, ornate hilt, cross guard, and jet-black pommel stone made it the ultimate tool for assassination. It was even balanced for throwing, as Jag had just proved once again.

He stepped over the body and continued, up some wooden ramps and past where the mercenary had been sitting. Various sacks and boxes lay scattered around on the ledge above the pool. Jag's instincts were urging him to open each one and search for valuables, but tonight Jag controlled them. He wasn't here on Thieves Guild business. True, he was here to steal, but not trinkets; tonight he would steal lives.

Between the blizzard outside and the tumbling waterwheel, hearing was difficult even for Jag's acute ears. He turned into a rough, stone- hewn passage with a stream gurgling along the floor. Spying a small shelf above the tunnel, he leapt onto it, landing with a soft scuff of leather. The manlike cat crawled along, checking behind him every so often.

He had been in this murderous business for so long that he had mastered the art of killing. He knew which parts of the body were the most vulnerable, what spots in different armors were weaker than others, and knew how to conceal himself so well that he couldn't be seen even in daylight. But nighttime was his realm. His black fur blended well with the shadows, as did each set of armor he carried.

Jag reached a side passage carved into the stone. On a small wooden platform stood two mercenaries: an Argonian and a Nord. An Imperial stood further back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Jag watched them talking for a while, then unsheathed Mehrunes Razor.

"One of these days I _will_ go straight. Make an honest profession for myself. You'll see," snapped the Nord to his companion.

"You?" scoffed the Argonian, "You're too mean to do anything except kill."

"It's not like we're doing any killing here. More like babysitting this Thane. And he had to pick the nastiest skeever-hole he could find to hole up in." commented the Nord, shifting his weight on the spindly wooden chair.

Jag threw his dagger. It would have skewered the Nord right through the eye, but the man had moved, and the blade glanced off his armor to stick in the wall instead. Jag hissed in displeasure and rolled away, landing about three yards from the confused men.

What the hired thugs saw standing before them was terrifying. A Khajiit dressed in dark armor complete with cape and mask with a hood. There were only twin pinpricks of white light where the eyeholes should have been. Even worse, this living shadow reached over its back and unsheathed twin Akaviri katanas. The blades were identical, except that one had a ghostly aurora of fire wrapped it, while the other was thinly wreathed in sparking lightning. The mercenaries stood dumbstruck, until Jag cleared his throat.

"Ahem… This is where you charge," he said softly.

The men hesitated for a moment more, and then ran forward while drawing blades. The Imperial nocked an arrow in his bow and raised it to fire, but the other two were in his way.

The Nord bellowed as he swung his greatsword. Jag ducked under the blow with ease and lunged for the Nord's belly with both swords. The man was lifted off his feet for a moment as both blades penetrated his iron armor and exited through his back. The twin swords made sizzling sounds when they seared the flesh around the blades. Jag yanked Eclipse and Nova out of the Nord and let him land on the rocky streambed.

_Typical Nords,_ Jag thought with disdain_, always the first to engage. Always the first to die. _The Argonian lunged forward and crashed against Jag, his axe pinned between Eclipse and Nova, a hairsbreadth away from his armor. They stood there, pushing against one another in an effort to overpower the other. The Imperial mercenary screamed, "Haven't got a shot! Get outta the way, Par!"

There came shouts from further down the tunnel. Jag stopped pushing and stepped back, causing the Argonian, Par, to stumble forward. The Imperial saw his chance and let the arrow fly. Jag caught the falling Argonian and moved him into the path of the rusty iron arrow. There was a _snikt_ and Jag let go of the limp lizard. Two more Nords dashed into the narrow passage. The remaining mercenary looked in horror at the bodies of his dead friends and tried to jump off the wooden platform to escape down the tunnel.

Jag stepped forward quickly, and when the man landed, he layed open his back with crisscrossing slashes. Blood sprayed the walls and turned the small stream dark.

The assassin jumped forward over the body of the cowardly Imperial and turned to face the rest of the thugs. He was not a moment too soon. An iron battleaxe, unwieldy in the confines of the cave, glanced off the wall and sent sparks shooting into the stream. A scarred woman yelled, "Never should have come here!", and sent a burst of mage fire past her ally at Jag. He ignored the fire. He knew that the enchantments upon his armor and jewelry would render any but the strongest spells useless, so this puny effort was nothing.

Before the big man could swing again, Jag stepped inside his guard and kicked at the side of the man's knee. He fell with a cry of pain, and Jag leapt over him at the woman. Her eyes opened wide when she saw him, a terrifying specter still trailing smoke, bearing down on her. She tried to backpedal but slipped on some rocks in the icy stream. She screamed as Jag slipped in behind her as she fell, catching her over his knee. He pushed, and her voice cracked at the same time as her spine.

The man struggled to his feet and hurled a dull knife down the tunnel. Jag had started to rise when he felt the iron weapon impact his lower back. The Nord started to smile in triumph, but his mouth fell open when he saw the assassin turn, unharmed, and walk his way. The knife hadn't even penetrated the thick material of the cloak. The Nord groped blindly for his axe or even a river stone. Too late.

Jag placed his swords on either side of the kneeling Nord's neck, and pulled them in opposite directions. The man's look of shock and pain was replaced by a more vacant one as his newly freed head hit the tunnel floor.

Jag surveyed the carnage. All told, the fight had taken no more than two minutes. He breathed in deeply, calming his heart rate and sheathing his swords. He retrieved Mehrunes Razor from the wooden dais and scanned down that tunnel. Nothing. The passage dead ended where some poor sod had been trying to mine it out, and his or her pickaxe rested against the wall in testament.

He backtracked and loped down to where the second wave of defenders had come from. _Defenders,_ he thought icily. _Thane Tofsin should have known that those pitiful excuses for mercenaries were no match for the Dark Brotherhood!_

He reached another room, this one filled with an even bigger shallow pool. Water splashed around Jag's ankles as he cautiously assessed where he was. Nothing remarkable was in the room, aside from a chest, more sacks, and a tall waterfall. The waterfall fell out of a man-sized hole in the wall, which led to another tunnel. Jag assumed that a man used to such luxury would object to climbing the slick rocks next to the falls. He realized he must have missed something.

After searching down the hall silently for a hidden door or another side passage, Jag heard the scuff of booted feet from the passage behind the raised wooden stand. He crept down it, and to his left he saw another crudely hewn passageway concealed between two bone horn torches. Roots drooped low over the ceiling and the floor was made of uneven soil.

In the room at the end of the four meter tunnel stood an Orc in steel plated armor, twin war axes held in a battle position. He spotted Jag and growled, "Come on, you sneaking piece of filth! Let's end this!" But remained where he was.

Jag stepped forward cautiously, thinking rapidly about what traps could be ahead. Tripwires, pressure plates, or more reinforcements ran through his mind.

He made out a small length of cord stretched across the tunnel. Nonchalantly, he stepped over it. The Orsimer narrowed his eyes slightly when he saw Jag avoid the trap. The Khajiit took out another dagger to compliment Mehrunes Razor. This one was of elegant elven make, made of moonstone that shone in the murk.

As Jag reached the room, he flung himself forward in case unseen foes waited out of sight. The Orc snarled through his tusks and chopped down on Jag's neck, with the other axe held close to his chest in defense. Jag threw his arm up against the Orc's descending one and blocked the swing. His other knife dived for the Orc's chest, but the flat of the Orcish axe stopped it. He hooked a leg around the back of the Orc's knees and pushed with his core while his leg pulled the green skinned brute off balance.

With a snarl, they fell against an alchemy laboratory, which still had a half-completed potion bubbling sluggishly in its basin. The back of the Orc's helmet hit the basin and began to hiss as whatever the liquid was dissolved the metal. The Orc yelled in pain, Jag hit his jaw with the pommel of Mehrunes Razor, and thrust the blade up through his chin. Jag raised the elven dagger in a reverse grip and shoved the deadly sharp point through the eye of the mercenary.

The assassin dived to the side, expecting an attack from behind. But when he got to his feet, he saw nothing else in the room besides an expensive metal chest and a few more tables against walls, laden with alchemy ingredients. Fine clothes and other pricey items lay scattered around the chest, hastily dumped by whoever was currently hiding in it. There came a small squeak from the chest, and it shuddered as the lid fully closed. Jag felt a momentary twinge of satisfaction, for he had found his prey. His tail twitched slightly and he retrieved his knives.

He strode over to the box and knocked lightly. There was no answer from the chest. He yanked on the lid. It was locked or was being held shut from inside.

"Get out," he said dispassionately.

This time, a voice answered him. "Listen, we can work out a deal. I know there's something you wa-"

"**Get out.**" Jag growled.

"Please!" whined Windhelm's thane, Tofsin. "Spare me!"

"You can climb out and do this the easy way, or I can burn this thing, with you in it. Someone has performed the Black Sacrament, Thane. Your life is forfeit." The Khajiit said coldly.

The lid creaked open, and Thane Tofsin clambered out. He was a small man dressed in fine clothes and furs. He had short blonde hair and pale skin, normal for a Nord. But currently his skin was ashen, covered in a sheen of sweat.

The Thane knelt before the assassin, hands clasped. "What is it you want? Gold? Favors? I'll do anything! Please!" The man's voice broke. Jag circled around behind him and sheathed the elven blade. Over the years, his victim's pleas had gotten tedious, so he began to tune them all out. He grabbed the man's forehead from behind, his sharpened fingernail-claws scratching the skin a bit. Tofsin screamed, his quavering voice cutting above the muted howl of the blizzard. Jag disliked the noise. It grated on his sensitive ears.

He thrust the knife between two spinal vertebrae in Tofsin's neck, pulling back Tofsin's head at the same time to allow easier passage of the dagger. The screaming stopped.

Outside, the blizzard howled, blanketing the dark landscape of Skyrim with fluffy white sheets and hid the dangerous nature of the land.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey there, readers! Skyrim belongs to Bethesda, as do all of their npc's. Please review and follow if you enjoy the story!

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**4**

Dovahkiin

_Flashes of memory whipped through his head. He was in Sovngarde, the afterlife of Nordic warriors, speaking to legendary Ysgramor. Lydia's smiling face, the warmth of her lips on his, then her blood staining snow. Alone in the mountains, surrounded by hostile dragons about to attack. Alduin bellowing mightily and his maw opening to swallow him whole._

Dovahkiin sat up with a start, covered in sweat, his memories overwhelming his thoughts. He brushed a wet lock of brown hair from his face. Without waking Lydia, who was slumbering peacefully next to him, he got out of bed and tiptoed to the nightstand. A board creaked under his feet. _Damn!_ he thought, freezing in place. He had never been very good at sneaking.

He stood listening for sounds of Lydia waking up, but she didn't make a peep. Relieved, he reached the nightstand and grabbed the jug of water and a metal goblet. He poured himself some water and stood listening to the sounds of Whiterun. It was the middle of the night, and moonlight filtered in through the thin slats in the roof. Dogs barked in the distance. Dovahkiin gazed upwards, thinking about all that had happened to him.

Slaying dragons used to make him feel powerful. He had thought of dragons as no more than vicious animals. His adventures had changed all of that. Dragons were complex and wise, able to wield powers that most mortals would never understand. Hell, _he_ barely understood it, and he had been speaking in the dragon tongue for years now.

He suddenly frowned and looked down, regretful that most people would never appreciate dragons for what they were: Ancient and awe- inspiring. He snorted as he realized that most people's only interaction with dragons was dead livestock and damaged livelihoods. After defeating Alduin, the evil leader of the dragons, Dovahkiin no longer felt his blood boil at the thought of them. After all, if men could make mistakes in their allegiance, why couldn't dragons?

Now, whenever someone came running to him with a dragon problem, he made sure that it actually was a problem before solving it. He spoke to and reasoned with them in their own language. And he killed them only if talking didn't work.

"_Laas!"_ Dovahkiin whispered, and he felt the power of the Thu'um flow through him. Colored blobs appeared around him, illuminating the auras of all large living things around.

He glanced back at Lydia, whose aura pulsed faintly as she breathed. He smiled warmly, without thinking. He was so proud that she was his, that he was hers, and that he had been able to protect her on all their adventures together. _Well, he_ thought wryly, _she saved me from quite a few tough spots as well._ They shared a unique relationship, as Thane and housecarl, companions and comrades, friends, and more recently, man and wife.

"It was the dreams, wasn't it?" Just hearing her sweet voice made his chest tighten with love. He turned with a sad smile. She was standing next to the bed, one of the soft furs draped over her shoulders.

"Sorry, love. I didn't mean to wake you." He walked over and kissed her gently on the neck.

"You didn't answer the question." She said, face inches from his own.

"Aye. It was the dreams." He replied finally.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Should a warrior even feel this way? To see the men I've killed? The dangers I've already faced have come back to haunt me when I sleep. It's almost like they're mocking me, because they had the last laugh."

"Dov, we've been over this," She said firmly. Hearing her say his name brought back memory, but… not enough memory. When he had woken up in Helgen, he couldn't remember who he was. The fight the night before had robbed him of most of his identity before the ambush. True, over the time hazy recollections had started to return, mostly of his family, people he had known, and his earlier life.

Now, he was simply known as 'Dovahkiin'. It made things easier, he had to admit. Instead of people trying to fit a name onto their hero, they could just call him his title, Dovahkiin or Dragonborn. He was called this for his dragon blood, and his ability to 'Shout', or use the dragon's language for supernatural things.

"Dreaming about things that would make normal men wet their pants, and that _you_ have fought and defeated… That doesn't make you any less of a man. And certainly not any less of a hero! I have them too, sometimes. You have to make peace with it. Then I think it won't bother you so much."

"You speak most wisely, love." He said.

She chuckled. "Yes, perhaps I'll become one of the Greybeards when I'm old."

"You already speak as if you're one." He teased.

Lydia drew back from him and stroked an imaginary beard. "Dovahkiin, you must master your thu'um as you master yourself!" She imitated in a deep voice. They laughed and Lydia guided Dovahkiin back to bed.

In the morning, when the sky was clear and bright, Dovahkiin got out of bed groggily and read a note on his dresser. It said: _I'll be in Dragonsreach if you need me, my thane. Love, Lydia._ He scowled at her use of his title. Since their marriage, he had insisted that her calling him 'Thane' was not needed. He got dressed in the simple armor that he preferred, (an iron helmet with bone horns curling around the temples, scaled armor that was made of leather with metal studs for resilience, boots that covered his shins in iron, and iron backed gauntlets. He belted on his iron sword, Narsίl, and strode outside of his house into Whiterun. The city had already woken up, and the air echoed with the sounds of children laughing, merchants calling out their wares, and beggars moaning.

Dovahkiin strode past the Companions' hall, Jorrvaskr. The roof had once been a great ship, but was overturned and made into a building. Carpenters were laboring on the roof, repairing the patchy roof. He snorted, remembering how old Kodlak Whitemane, the Companions' previous Harbinger, had refused to seal the leaks in it. _Come to think of it, you wouldn't find a group of more traditional or hardheaded Nords in all of Skyrim._

Dovahkiin liked to think he had overcome the racial stereotype of ignorant, aggressive Nords during his travels. _Maybe that's why the Companions don't seem overly comfortable around me._ They respected the Dragonborn, and even asked him to join them, but hadn't understood when he explained that his important position meant he couldn't show too much favoritism to any guild. He remembered the heated conversation over his joining the Companions several months ago.

Ω

"What?! People won't care! So you're saying that you won't join us because you don't want to offend The Dark Brotherhood or the College of Winterhold?" Yelped Farkas, one of the Companions.

"Pretty much," Dovahkiin had said. "Although, one should never try and offend the Dark Brotherhood anyway."

"I bet it's because he knows we're true Nords and doesn't think he'll fit in." This came from the Companion's new Harbinger, Stenar Stronghammer, who'd sidled up as they were talking outside of Jorrvaskr. His wolf armor shone in the sun, and wrinkles had begun to show up on his face.

"Enough of that true- Nord stuff, Stenar, you renegade Stormcloak." Dovahkiin grinned good naturedly, one which Stenar returned behind his blonde beard.

"Say it again!" Stenar said.

"**STORMCLOAK!**" Dovahkiin had bellowed, causing half the people in the Wind District below to stop and look up in alarm. The Dragonborn shouting was something to be worried about.

"Gods, yes!" Stenar had raised his arms in the air and spun around, laughing. "And proud of it! Well, _former_ Stormcloak. But if Ulfric and Galmar Stone- Fist came back from Sovngarde today, I'd cast down all my vows and join them!"

"Oh, yeah?" Farkas had challenged. "And what would Aela have to say about that?"

Stenar had snorted. "I would convince her to follow me. She'd look good in blue. But I suppose the Dragonborn makes sense. He can't join us because he doesn't think we're worth his time. I can respect that. As long as he doesn't start taking our jobs!"

Ω

Dovahkiin looked up on the hill at Jorrvaskr. He could see Stenar returning from the Skyforge up on the hill. The massive stone eagle crouching over the forge dominated the Wind District, and had been there since before Whiterun had even been built. No one knew when the Skyforge had been built. He waved to Stenar, and turned to glance at the Gildergreen, an enormous flowering tree that stood in the circular plaza in the Wind District, which Dovahkiin had recently restored it to its former glory.

He continued walking up the wooden stairs to Dragonsreach, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater's wooden palace. At the top of the steps, he sat and gazed out over the plains. Whiterun's tiered structure meant that up here in the Cloud District, he had an amazing view over everything around. He rested his hand in his chin, enjoying the tranquility.

Then his peace was shattered as he saw a large form with bat like wings flying toward the city. His eyes narrowed, and he noticed that the distant dragon was going at incredible speed; this one meant business. Dovahkiin sprinted down the steps and through the city, dodging carts of goods and confused citizens. He neared the gate and called to the gate guards as he ran.

"You there! Open the bloody gate! Now!"

The guard started to question who he was, then recognized the Dragonborn. He practically threw himself against the gate to get it open.

"What is it? Dragons?!" The guard yelled.

"Aye! Warn the Jarl!" Dovahkiin cursed himself for not thinking of that when he had been at Dragonsreach. He burst through the gates and stopped, looking for the dragon. He saw it at once, for it was close by, circling over one of the local farms. It opened its maw and a pillar of fire shot into the fields, blackening the crops.

Dovahkiin started running again, pounding over the wooden catwalks that led parallel over the switchbacks out of the city, where an elevated guard tower stood. With little time to waste, the Dragonborn plummeted off the four meter drop, landing in a crouch to dissipate the force. He was near the stables now.

"_Wuld Nah Kest!"_ He Shouted. He was shot forward by the power of the Thu'um, for that was the purpose of this particular shout. It was called Whirlwind Sprint, and it didn't let him down. He reached the stables in seconds, calling for his horse. The beast came quickly, and Dovahkiin threw himself up on it. He urged it towards the farms, where the farm animals were screaming in terror.

"_Wuld, Nah Kest!"_ His horse bolted forward, many times faster than normal. When they reached the fields, Dovahkiin dismounted, not wanting his horse hurt in the battle. He drew Narsίl and charged across the blackened soil. The dragon was perched atop what used to be a small stable, watching him approach.

"_O hunter of the sky, will you not cease your attack and parley with me?"_ He called in the dragon language.

"_Bron kendov al, alun aus bah!" The dragon growled. "Slayer of mighty Alduin, you will face me and burn, like so many other mortals. Dovahkiin, our battle be glorious, and your fate is inescapable!"_

Dovahkiin clenched his jaw. Here before him was one of Alduin's zealous followers, hostile even after their leader's fall. There was no choice, no chance of peace. The beast must die.

"_Krii Lun Aus."_ A purple film briefly shimmered around the dragon as Dovahkiin said the words, and its scales and life force were weakened.

"_Strun Ba Qo_!" Clouds gathered above them both and lightning began to strike randomly. The dragon launched itself upwards, but then Dovahkiin Shouted the words that led him to victory over dragons time and time again.

"_Joor Zah Frul! _The dragon froze for a second in midair, and then it plummeted to the earth. Dovahkiin's Shout caused it to forcefully land, and it caught itself at the last second. It glared at him; now it _really_ looked pissed.

It Shouted the words for fire, and an inferno blew towards the Dragonborn. His eyes widened, and for a moment the only thing in his mind was stark fear. His instinct was to raise his shield over him, but he didn't have it with him. In the nick of time, he regained control of his thoughts.

"_Feim!"_ He said, and his body faded into a smoky opacity, making sure he could not harm or be harmed. The fire raged all around him, but he walked forward calmly, waiting for the moment when the fire would stop and he would not be ethereal.

Suddenly, the fire stopped billowing from the dragon. Dovahkiin found himself face to face with it. His body darkened from misty white to normal as the Shout wore off. He bellowed a battle cry and swung the iron sword with two hands at the beast's snout. It drew back its head sharply, and the blow missed. The dragon snapped at him, but he dodged to the side and grabbed one of its horns. He threw himself up on its neck, right behind the head. The back spikes were much shorter here, and not very deadly. Dovahkiin shoved the sword down into its neck, behind the horns. It screamed and thrashed, rearing up on its hind legs and flapping the wings attached to its forearms.

With a growl of the Words of power, it became ethereal. It had used the same Shout he had! Usually dragons stuck to a few Shouts, like fire, but he could tell this one was ruthless. The Dragonborn slid off its neck and whirled to face it.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning hit a patch of ground right in front of him. Momentarily blinded, he staggered back, squinting. The dragon took this time to twist around, its tail hurtling toward him like a fleshy whip. He hit the ground, but swung his sword to meet the tail. There was little resistance. Blood sprayed his face, and he heard the thump of the tail hitting the ground next to him. The dragon screamed again, and flapped laboriously into the sky, wobbling a bit at the lack of balance.

Dovahkiin tracked its progress and Shouted, "_Liss Slen Nus."_ The Words of Power were meant to freeze an opponent solid, but due to the dragon's massive size and speed, only its wing and half its body became stiff and cold.

The Dragonborn ran towards his foe as it cart wheeled out of the sky, landing in an adjacent field. Its unmovable body parts cracked from the impact, and became flesh once more, although there seemed to be some frostbite on them.

Dovahkiin had almost reached it when the dragon spotted him coming and turned sharply, raking him with its claws. He was thrown backward, blood spurting from cuts in his right arm. His armor barely stopped the rest. He clenched his teeth and got to his feet, cradling his damaged arm. _His sword arm_.

He spotted the iron weapon a few feet away, then turned back to the irate dragon, which crawled towards him, smelling his blood. _Doesn't matter,_ he thought. _I'll finish this fight with my Thu'um._ The dragon quickened its pace, eager for the kill.

**"****_Fus Ro Dah!"_** The beast was blown backwards several yards, and flipped end over end as it experienced the brunt of his power. The Unrelenting Force Shout did what it was supposed to: to blow anything and everything away.

The dragon came to its feet and shook its head. Dovahkiin didn't give it time to recover.

"_Tiid Klo Ul."_ And everything became sluggish as his Shout slowed time.

"_Yol Toor Shul! Fo Krah Diin! Gaan Lah Haas! Ven Gar Nos!"_

Alternating waves of flames, ice, pure energy, and even a cyclone thickened the air, and the dragon flinched, staggered, and finally crashed to the ground, dead.

Time regained its normal speed, and the dragon's flesh began to melt and burn off its body, the way it did when they were killed. Dovahkiin fell to his knees, and reached for the satchel that held his potions. He grabbed a medium- sized bottle, uncorked it, and drank it all in two long draughts. The potion's restorative effects took effect, and the gashes on his arm stopped bleeding and closed slightly.

Wisps of light began to stream toward the Dragonborn. He sighed as he felt the first tendrils of the dragon's soul be absorbed into him. His vision blurred, and he felt the beast's power flow from its bones. As the last of the dragon's being reached him, he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He was exhausted from his flight and fight. He heard a distant voice calling his name. He turned, and saw Lydia sprinting at the head of a host of Whiterun guards.

He was confident that he would survive the injury, so he decided to rest until help reached him. The ground rushed up to meet him, and he closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello, dear readers! Shroudedpanther here. This one introduces the Harbinger of the Companions. Skyrim and its NPC's are Bethesda's. Enjoy, and don't forget to follow/favorite/review!

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5

Stenar Frosthammer

"We'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Count on it." Stenar said to Aela the Huntress.

"What're you going to go do, again?" She asked skeptically.

"Just wandering. We'll look in some of the caves, maybe _hunt_ a bit." Stenar's eyes flashed meaningfully as he said hunt.

Aela's face flickered in recognition, but all she said was, "Aye. Get going, you milk-drinker."

He pulled her to him roughly in a hug. She protested, hit his shoulder futilely, but he knew that deep inside, she liked it. His beard tickled her head. Then he released her and turned to where Farkas was standing impatiently by the door.

"C'mon, loverboy. I ain't got all day." He said in his gruff tone.

Stenar opened the door and walked out of Jorrvaskr, with Farkas and a new member named Retlin trailing behind him. They exited the city and trooped west to the distant plains. They walked until they were in sight of a village called Rorikstead, and then made camp for the night.

"Retlin, you can set up our bedrolls and build a fire. Farkas, help him. I'll go kill something for dinner." He said.

"Why are you hunting?" There's enough food here for days!" Retlin complained. The Dark Elf's eyebrows were cocked, and he crossed his arms over his leather armor.

"All that food is salted. In case you haven't noticed, fresher food is better, Retlin."

"You always get the fun chore." Farkas grumbled.

"Aye. It's a perk of being the boss." He smiled and turned away, steel and fur wolf armor rubbing together gently.

Stenar trotted out of the camp to a nearby bluff, where he surveyed the land. In the distance, he spotted a bonfire that some giants had undoubtedly built, and the dark shapes of wolves pursuing a deer. He grinned, and felt the beast within him stir and make his blood quicken as it felt the hunt coming.

He bounded off the rock and towards the wolves, hoping he could scare them off after they caught the deer. He was a hunter, but he knew he could not keep up with something as fleet as a deer in this form, especially with his armor. Besides, he didn't want to change if he didn't have to. The power was great, but Retlin back at camp didn't yet know of the wolf blood, and Stenar didn't want to surprise him like that.

The wolves had stopped the deer and were busy clamping their jaws on its throat and flanks. The doomed animal gave a halfhearted bleat and sagged to the ground, lifeless. Stenar reached the wolves and unsheathed his greatsword. He held it above his head and growled menacingly. The feral dogs scattered and regrouped, facing him down across the carcass. The alpha dog moved forward, snarling.

It was about to spring at him when it stopped and sniffed the air. Its ears perked up, and it cocked its head. It seemed puzzled. Then Stenar understood. _He _must smell of the wolf too. These predators were understandably wary. Stenar was the leader of his own pack, and his scent must have shown it. The wolf hesitated for another moment, and then sprang at him.

Stenar wasn't expecting the attack and fell back, holding his sword in between himself and the wolf. It snarled savagely and strained for his throat, so close to its jaws. Hot saliva dripped down onto his breastplate.

Stenar gave a mighty heave with his left hand, putting all his strength behind that movement. The alpha male rolled off his chest and scrambled to its feet, already rounding on him. Stenar had no room to swing his sword, so he unsheathed his steel dagger, specially made in the Skyforge. The wolf reared up on its hind legs and pounced. Stenar yelled incoherently and stabbed upwards with his pointed dagger, hitting the beast between its ribs. The wolf collapsed and whined, its breath coming in shallow bursts.

By now, the wolves had encircled Stenar, and he grabbed his sword as he rose. As one, they darted in and bit his legs. He bellowed in rage and swept his sword in an arc, slicing open a wolf's neck and nicking another's paw. The pack backed off, turned tail, and ran off into the night. Stenar exhaled in relief. He turned back to the deer, scrutinizing it. _Yes, it'll do,_ he thought.

He began dragging the animal back to the camp, pausing to breathe and scan his surroundings with a wary gaze. When he was almost back, a flurry of movement caught his eye. It came from near the great bonfire he spotted earlier. Stenar squinted and made out one of the giants scuffling with about a dozen warriors in fur armor. One had steel plate armor on, and was leading the charge with her mace held high.

_Bandits_, he thought in disgust. _But then again… I could use some more action._ He smiled and started away from camp. Distant sounds of battle reached him as he loped along. He was careful to watch his footing; many small ledges and outcroppings dotted Whiterun Hold's plains, and small streams in it were often laced with mudcrabs laying in ambush. He reached the circle of firelight and knelt, observing the situation.

Three of the bandits were already lying in crumpled, bloodstained heaps, tossed around by the giants like ragdolls. In return, the bandits had brought down one of the two giants and wounded the other. _Giants aren't the most fancy fighters_, Stenar thought wryly. _They don't need to fence with you when they can just pound you into a pulp or toss you over a mountain range._

The giants had scraggly brown beards, were roughly eleven feet tall, and wore nothing other than furry loincloths. Their grayish skin was pockmarked by cuts and slashes.

Stenar decided to attack the giant; after all, the bandits were still men and mer, and he didn't know for certain that they actually were outlaws. Giants, on the other hand, he knew to be dumb and vicious. _Not unlike Farkas,_ he thought with affection as he drew out his sword. He ran at the giant and slashed at the back of its knee. The giant collapsed onto his good knee, and glanced back in anger and confusion. It started to turn, but suddenly a wooden shaft of an arrow sprouted out of its chest. The leader in steel plate brought her mace crashing down on the brute's head. It swayed unsteadily and fell backwards.

The steel-clad leader turned towards Stenar and said, "My thanks, stranger. What's your name?"

Stenar wouldn't have known it was a woman behind the helmet except that the armor was so small. He said, "Stenar Frosthammer is my name. Why'd you take on a giant camp?"

The woman didn't reply. He noticed her and the other rough looking men and women staring at him and his armor with hostility. He frowned.

"What's the matter? Is there a skeever behind me or something?" He joked.

"You… You are with the Companions, aren't you?" She asked flatly.

"Aye, that I am. Harbinger, in fact. Why? You lot hoping to join?"

The woman brought her wooden shield up slightly. The mace twitched at her side. "You abomination! Your _pack_ of cursed werewolves destroyed the Silver hand, and killed Krev the Skinner! I'll have your head for that!"

Stenar's sword was instantly in front of him. The Silver Hand was a clan dedicated to the destruction of werewolves. Since the Circle, a small group of Companions that led the guild, were werewolves, this led to a small war.

A war that Stenar, with the help of his shield- siblings, won. He had wiped out most of the Silver Hand. They were little more than bandits, totally without honor.

_Why are they here? They should be holed up somewhere if they haven't cast off the name of Silver Hand and gone back to being bandits!_ A crunch sounded behind him, and Stenar glanced behind him to see Farkas and Retlin stalking forward, weapons ready.

"Get lost, filth, before this gets ugly." Farkas growled.

"You're the one who's making this ugly. Get them! Kill the monsters!" The leader screamed back to her friends.

Companions and Silver Hand charged each other, leaping over the bloody forms of the giants. Stenar felt an arrow skim his cuirass, and he swung at the leader, who absorbed the hit with her shield. She retaliated with a side swing at his ribs. He caught the mace with the sword's small crossguard and stabbed the weapon at her center. Her shield splintered on impact, and the greatsword cut past her armored arm into the flesh underneath.

Stenar pulled it out and saw Farkas shove one of the Silver Hand into the bonfire, which collapsed under the man's weight and trapped him in a red hot embrace. He started screaming, and Farkas turned to face another two advancing on him.

He glanced over at Retlin, who was cornered against a stone pillar by three more Silver Hand. The chief screamed and brought the mace down on his unarmored head, like she had with the giant. Stenar barely got out of the way in time, ducking and lurching back as the mace scratched the front of his armor.

He kicked the woman in the chest and ran over to help Retlin. Retlin was fending off strikes from each of the enemies, but fell with a cry when an arrow pierced his shoulder. Stenar lowered his shoulder and crashed into one of the Silver Hand, making the man go flying. Stenar had always been burly, and he used this now to cut and stab at his opponents with such force that he cracked their shields, made them drop their weapons, and knock them back away from Retlin.

Blood now lay in small puddles on the ground and spurts of it covered the grass and stone. Stenar fiercely cut off the last Silver Hand's head and watched it roll away into the night before turning back to the battle. Only two remained; an archer that Retlin was sprinting towards and an unlucky Argonian whom Farkas was battering. Since Farkas was closer, Stenar stepped in and swept the lizard- man off his feet with the flat of his blade. His breath was knocked out and could only stare in terror up at Farkas, who brought his iron greatsword down with a final _snikt_.

The archer drew back an arrow, but Retlin crashed into him, sending him sprawling across the grass. The archer rushed off away from the bonfire, casting horrified glances over his shoulder as he went. Retlin let him go. He turned back to the firelight and came over to Farkas and Stenar. Farkas nodded approvingly, and Stenar said,

"You fought well, shield- brother. You defended yourself against odds that weren't in your favor. But most of all, you showed honor in letting that cowardly dog go. The choice you made was right. He was not a threat, and a warrior must know when to spill blood and when to stay his hand."

The Dunmer dipped his head, a proud smile splitting his face. Stenar saw a flurry of movement behind him. He frowned and started to edge past Retlin, hands tightening around his sword.

Retlin stiffened and seemed to stand on tiptoe, his features twisted in a horrible grimace. A silver sword forced its way out of his chest and through his leather armor. The Silver Hand leader let him and the sword fall to the ground, going for a simple iron dagger strapped to her hip.

Farkas froze, but Stenar tackled the bitch and pummeled her helmet with both gauntlets. She heaved him off and he grabbed her armor, rolling them over into the bonfire. Stenar wrenched her helm off, raised his boot high, and brought it down with a sickening _crunch_. He stepped away her wearily, and Farkas ran to Retlin's prone form.

It was no use. The Dark Elf's crimson eyes had already closed forever.

"Dammit! Curse the Silver Hand to Oblivion!" Farkas roared out a long lament. It was a challenge, but also the sound of grief, of terrible loss. Stenar bowed his head and dropped to one knee, mourning the loss of a promising young shield- brother.

He stood up, sheathed his sword, and laid a hand on Farkas' shoulder.

"Let's not leave him here, brother. We'll honor him back at Jorrvaskr."

Farkas just nodded his head. Stenar dragged the chief's body away from the fire and went through her pockets. It was gruesome, he knew, but he had gotten over the revulsion long ago. There could be important or valuable things on her, such as documents or jewelry. _Doing what we can to survive…_ Stenar thought grimly.

He brought out a note written on parchment. It wasn't sealed. In fact, it was wrinkled as if the Silver Hand looked at it often. He opened it up to read:

_L, _

_Excellent work in rounding up the remnants of the Silver Hand. With my blessings, your mighty clan will rise again and strike fear into the hearts of the Companions. I shall be elsewhere for the next month, in the Reach with Namira's Coven. The scourged shall tear down the mighty! The wrongs shall be righted! And you, dear warrior? You will serve as one of my faithful lieutenants. Farewell for now._

_~Ω_

Stenar tucked the note away in his bag. It disturbed him immensely, that the Silver Hand was gathering in force, and that this other entity seemed to be behind them. He contemplated taking some shield- siblings and investigating this… Coven in the Reach. The Daedric prince Namira was nasty, and launching the first strike could give his Companions the edge.

He turned back to Farkas. "I'm sorry, brother, but we cannot camp here. A note that the whelp was carrying mentioned a threat to the Companions. We will go back to Whiterun to warn them."

They packed their tent, extinguished the fire, and loaded their gear in preparation for the hike back to Whiterun.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6, with Virali the High Elf! Sorry if there are errors with her name. It was originally Virani, but I made a minor change, and some may have slipped through the cracks. I recently uploaded new chapters that include revision's to the character's names, and grammar fixes. Cuaroc has become Kaius, and so on.

The first internet cookie goes to AssassinPro, who spotted one in the first chapter. It was, "We'll make it." Said by Kaius.

This is an easter egg of the Master Chief Spartan 117, who states that phrase multiple times in the series. There are many more of those kinds by Kaius, because I modeled him off of the Master Chief. If you don't like it, forget I said anything :) Enjoy, and don't forget to post a review or favorite!

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6

Virali

The Arch Mage of the College of Winterhold relaxed her rigid fingers and opened her eyes. Her hand hovered over one of the glowing orbs that remained stationary in the Hall of Elements. One of the many spells that had been discovered or made recently was one that let her see things happening all over Skyrim.

So those were the ones. Her spell, according to an ancient manuscript that she found in the Arcaneum, was supposed to show her the individuals that were to help her defeat the threat appearing in Skyrim. Admittedly, Virali had been skeptical about it at first, but as she compared notes with other mages, strange signs began to emerge. A visit to the Augur of Dunlain had sealed the deal. He (or _it_), as Virali still didn't know exactly what the glowing pit was, had confirmed the incoming tide of evil. And of course the Augur brought up pronouncements of doom if she should fail… The usual mystic mumbo- jumbo.

Virali reached her quarters and flung open the door. As the leader of the College, her room was very impressive. It featured an alchemy table which she used to mix potions and poisons, a small garden in the center of the circular room with tons of alchemy ingredients, shelves stocked with soul gems, ingredients, books, and other supplies, and an enchanting table which was used to infuse armor, clothes, jewelry, or weapons with different enchantments.

She reached for the bag that was sitting by her bed. As she walked around the room, the High Elf gathered items that she'd need. _Staff of Paralysis, yes. Vampire dust, yes. Apprentice Robes of Destruction, definitely not._ Virali smirked. She now wore customized robes that were tailored to her skills. She moved on to her potions. Virali thought she took too many potions, but hey, she usually used them up, and they helped her immensely.

After her bags were packed, she found Tolfdir sitting by the large doors of the College

The old man cocked an eyebrow and said kindly, "Leaving so soon, Virali? I thought you were to stay at least for another month. What about the apprentices? You had a lesson scheduled today in restoration magic."

"I remember, Tolfdir. You know I wouldn't leave unless it was very important. Get Colette to do the lesson today. She's been looking forward to teaching her craft. Hopefully it shall stop her from complaining that restoration magic is not respected," she grinned.

"Hmm. Very well. When will you be returning?" He sighed with acceptance.

"I… have no idea. Sorry Tolfdir, but I just scryed and what I saw was… disturbing."

"I thought you were just looking for those who would aid you in this quest. Were they that awful?" Tolfdir asked.

"I did, but I also saw lots of malice as well. Evil things are stirring. I didn't have time to see exactly what before my magicka ran out, but it bodes ill for Skyrim."

"Alright then. Take care of yourself. I suppose it would be foolish of me to ask if you are going to take a companion."

"They'd only slow me down, and you most of all, old man." She smiled at his mock outrage.

"Well, how about that! I'll have you know that with a relatively simple incantation, I can levitate and go at least as fast as you do! Or I could transform into a deer and bound ahead of you!"

Virali chuckled as she imagined Tolfdir as a deer. He waved her away and she wandered out the doors of the College, starting west for the city of Dawnstar. She camped each night in old ruins or any cave devoid of predators. She was attacked several times by ice wolves, but fended them off with ease.

After a few days of traveling, Virali spotted a large stone keep up on a hill. She would have smiled in anticipation, but her teeth were too busy chattering. Anyone else might have cursed Skyrim and its weather, but Virali merely sighed.

She thought that getting angry at something was overrated, especially something as infinite as the weather. It wasted energy and time that could be used to solve the problem.

She cast a fancy spell called 'clairvoyance', which would point her to her objective. Her first potential ally was the Khajiit called Jag, whom she knew to be part of the Dark Brotherhood. The spell created a ghostly blue trail of smoke which only she could see. It led across the snow and... Dissipated. Puzzled, Virali tried again, concentrating harder this time. Like before, the trail only showed for a second or so before vanishing.

Virali frowned and thought, _counterspells for anyone who searches for them? Oh, they **are **slick. _She assumed that it only showed up for that long because she was such a gifted mage. She cast clairvoyance once more, and noticed that the trail led over the precipice. The elf came to the edge and peered over.

Virali sighed again and climbed down the sheer cliff face beside the fort, and ambled along the shoreline. The Sea of Ghosts lapped its waves against driftwood and snow beside her.

Before long, she came to a door recessed in the rock. Nightshade flowers grew outside. Virali's slanted eyes narrowed slightly, and she paused. Here before her was a legendary Black Door, which guarded the Dark Brotherhood's hideouts.

She approached it and jumped back, her hands flickering with magefire, as the door began to speak.

"_What… Is life's… greatest illusion?"_ It hissed.

Virali stepped forward cautiously; her hands cradled a small fireball that she was preparing to throw if things went south. However, the door was silent after its question. She relaxed and pondered what she could do. It was obvious that the door wouldn't let her in without the password, which she didn't know. _But then…_ She thought to herself, _if this is the assassin's base of operations, then assassins had to be coming and going on contracts all the time, right?_

Satisfied, Virali started to make a camp where she could wait. She unrolled a bedroll and gathered some driftwood. Then she summoned flames from her hand, which flickered with magical fire that did not harm her. Virali cast them in a thick stream onto the driftwood. It caught immediately, and soon she was huddled over the small fire, warming her hands and glancing periodically at the Black Door.

Some hours later, when Virali was considering moving her camp to somewhere more sheltered, a flicker of movement caught her gaze. Her head snapped up and she stared at the small figure of a child, bundled against the cold, sauntering along the shore. Virali relaxed again and turned back to her fire. This child was probably from Dawnstar, which was right around the corner of the cliffs. The youngster soon reached Virali. It was a girl, and she couldn't have been more than ten.

The girl walked right up and started talking innocently, "Hello. What are you doing out in the cold like this? Are you a treasure hunter? How many sunken ships have you searched?"

Virali chuckled. "I'm not a treasure hunter, and it's certainly too cold in the water for me. I'm just waiting here for a friend." Virali decided not to tell the kid of her real reason for freezing her pointed ears off. If she wanted to get on the Dark Brotherhood's good side, she thought to herself, then she shouldn't go running her mouth about their hideout.

"Hey!" Said the girl, who had just noticed the decorated door in front of them, "What's that? Do you know?"

"Yes, I think so," Said Virali, "It's one of the Dark Brotherhood's entrances. I'm actually hoping to speak with them."

"Speak with-? The Dark Brotherhood? But they're bad! They're really, really bad! Why do you want to?" Squeaked the kid.

Virali looked away, her elven features tightening. "It's complicated."

There was a blur of movement, and Virali felt cold steel up against her throat. She turned her head slightly and looked into the girl's eyes. There was something wrong there; the child looked almost… hungry.

When the girl spoke, her voice had changed dramatically. It was still high pitched, but now it seemed mocking. The voice of a sadistic adult.

"Come on, you can tell me. Why do you want to find the Dark Brotherhood?"

When the girl spoke, Virali noticed her canines were pointed. And that hunger in the girl's eyes. That meant… Oh, Divines. A vampire.

"I- I need to speak with their leader. It's extremely important. It- concerns one of the assassins."

The vampire considered this. "Well." She said, "I didn't know it was about _business._ Let's go inside and ask them, shall we?"

The girl and her dagger were suddenly up against the door. She knocked lightly. The Black Door repeated its message, and the vampire murmured something that Virali didn't quite catch. However, the door heard it, and it seemed to sigh as it spoke.

"_Welcome home…"_

The girl turned and motioned for Virali to follow her.

"Come on, let's go meet my family." Virali followed the vampire into the depths of the assassin's lair. Behind them, the door swung shut silently.


End file.
